So much for waking up with the sun...

I forgot, until about 10:40, and it was a need for some sort of influence to be under that drove me to seek my medication. I counted the pills, there were three left. I don't know why I counted. I've counted them every night for the past week, and I know that Friday night I will have nothing to swallow. So I ate one, I had no other choice. Three days, I thought. Three days until a nightmare begins. Life becomes a fever-dream. Forgive me if I'm a little less than thrilled.

I probably could have gone out, or at least seen some people who would relieve the monotany. But going out would mean coming home again, and I don't think that I could stand that. Though it may not have done any good for my antisocial tendencies, I decided to abstain. Sometimes, just staying home and taking in a Cure album can be really nice.

I woke up this morning much the worse for a longer night's sleep than those I have had of late. I sleepwalked down the road to the gas station. I looked over my shoulder often, as I heard leaves rustling and suspected the worst from the rustler. I assume that my paranoia will abate in November. I downed twenty ounces of coffee before school was even in sight, and the only change in my temperament is increased irritation because I'm waiting to get a pass to the bathroom. I'll probably be directing rehearsal again, and I expect my shoulders to be in knots before three. When I get home I will be craving the drug again, and there I will be, right back where I started.

A Letter To Roark

I know you. I know you because you were once me, and one day I will be you. Detachment grows as days and months go by. I put myself through agonies, working to deserve the memory of you. You are the image of perfection that I carry with me, to remind me that there is still something ahead. When I am tired, suffering, or afraid, I remember you, and tell myself that if someone like you cannot exist in my life, then I will become you. I will fill that void.

But you don't feel fear, do you? And I've seen you smile at your own agony. When you catch your own reflection on accident, you are never startled by the person that you see. Through the years you will remain, implacable, unhurt, and maybe someday I will meet you. In finding you, I may find myself.

Honest to God?

These are my secrets, so I'm passing them on to you. You're starting to see it, too- the heroes that you loved weren't always what they claim. They're atoning. They never used to care, but now they have a debt to repay. No one is pure.

The cold ones, the cruel ones- we never wanted to be this way. We wanted to be warm, and loving, and surrounded by friends. We extended our hands in welcome. No one took them. And realizing our plight, we closed our hands into fists and turned away. Have you felt it, too? You hate because you hurt. Maybe someday you'll be like me- detached and puzzled- and miraculously unscathed. It doesn't hurt to be like me. Not one little bit. I don't hate anyone. I don't know anyone.

Havok told me that I don't have to be afraid. Bert taught me how to smile and to scream. "I'm always alright," is what The Doctor said. Now his words are mine as well. Raistlin showed me how to be cruel, and his brother taught me how to forgive. Because of Elphaba, I never forget. For Van I learned how to fly. Howard Roark killed what was left of my pity, and Dominique approved when I learned to be cold. But Vanyel showed that the ice will kill you, and that love, once earned, will always return. These are the things I know. This is what I will remember.